Chapter 7
Luca’s fingers trembled violently as he gripped the gold signet ring. The metal had rested against his skin for four years, a symbol of sovereign immunity that had commanded respect in every restaurant, boardroom, and back alley from Manhattan to Jersey. With a sickening scrape against his knuckle, he twisted the band, pulling it free.
He held it out in his open palm, tears of bitter humiliation finally spilling over his fair cheeks.
Valeria picked the ring from his hand with two fingers, not letting her skin touch his. She slipped it into the breast pocket of her tailored suit jacket without looking at it.
"Go inside the manor, Luca," Valeria instructed, her voice flat, devoid of anger, and completely devoid of warmth. "Go to the library. Sit behind your grandfather's desk and wait for me. If you step outside those double doors before I enter, my men will shoot you in the leg."
Luca swallowed the lump in his throat, casting one last, pathetic look at Camille, before turning on his heel and walking swiftly toward the terrace, his head bowed in defeat.
That left the Rourkes.
Declan was leaning heavily against the birch tree, clutching his broken ribs, while Camille knelt beside him in the grass, her ruined emerald gown covered in strawberry frosting and gardenia petals. The arrogance had been thoroughly beaten out of both of them, replaced by the naked, shivering terror of outsiders who had overplayed their hand in a den of lions.
"What are you going to do with us, Valeria?" Declan croaked, his voice thick with blood. "You can't kill us here. The Commission won't allow an open slaughter of a allied family's heirs."
Valeria walked over to where her father sat on the padded bench. She gently adjusted Arthur’s silk scarf, tucking the edges beneath his lapels with an infinitely tender touch.
"The Commission only protects families that exist, Declan," Arthur murmured from the bench, his old eyes gleaming with icy amusement. "And as of two o'clock today, the Rourke family is an administrative error."
Valeria turned back to the siblings. "Marco," she called out.
The head of her security detail stepped forward, holding a manila folder bound with red ribbon.
"The warehouse on Pier 42," Valeria commanded. "The shipment of medical equipment arriving from Rotterdam at midnight. Who authorized the clearance, Marco?"
"Declan Rourke signed the bill of lading, Don Valeria," Marco reported crisply. "Using forged DeLuca customs stamps."
Valeria looked down at Declan. "You used my family’s name to smuggle thirty million dollars in unregistered pharmaceuticals into my harbor. Did you really think customs wouldn't notify my office before the ship cleared the narrows?"
Declan closed his eyes, a dry, choked sob escaping his throat. "It wasn't pharmaceuticals, Valeria."
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Valeria’s eyes narrowed into twin points of obsidian. "Speak."
"It was weapons," Camille blurted out, clawing at the grass in sheer, frantic panic. "Military-grade rifles and explosives! Declan made a deal with the Moretti faction out of Chicago! They were supposed to arrive tonight to back Luca’s coup! If you don't release us, the Morettis will burn your terminals to the waterline!"
